As someone with an eating disorder, Food was a triggering experience for me. The piece borrows the tripartate structure of Food, and loosely adapts each of its parts (Meditation, Meal, and Dirtworld) but ultimately revolves around my attempt to process my relationship with the disorder.
In response to Food
In response to Food
ARFID – Avoidant/restrictive food intake disorder
It was eating I couldn’t stomach. Then food. The smell. Sight. Especially in process. Boiling pasta. Chopped broccoli. Shredded cucumber. Smear of PB&J. I’d shudder at the touch of butter. I avoided food. Grew intimate with hunger. Smoked cigarettes to dull my appetite. I lost weight. Ten pounds. Forty. I had trouble keeping my pants up. It’s been a year. My appetite has returned some. I’ve put on weight. Yet my diet is limited and repetitive; my relationship to food, damaged. I eat. But…
Avoidant: Individuals avoid foods in relation to sensory features, causing a sensitivity or over stimulation reaction. These patients may feel sensitive to the smell of foods; textures; general appearance, including color.
The texture
of
chewed
food
horrifies—
I cannot take
this
chum
into my body.
Aversive: Individuals may experience fear-based reactions. A fear of choking, nausea, vomiting, pain and/or swallowing, forcing the individual to avoid the food altogether.
Except in my case
when something’s
wrong
A man drinks a bowl of raw eggs.
often
I choke, gag, wretch;
The same man eats cigarettes by the handful.
I must immediately
spit out
Wine by the spigot, a bowl full of lettuce, a few dollar bills.
whatever I’m chewing
and stop
eating entirely right away. So
A mechanical cod flops desperately on a plate.
yeah, I avoid food.
I’m always afraid
I’m going to be sick.
Restrictive: Individuals may have little-to-no interest in food. One may forget to eat altogether, show signs of a low appetite, or get distracted during mealtime. Another symptom includes extreme pickiness, resulting in limited intake.
I’m not picky. Food alienates me.
I stand in the pantry and stare.
I close the pantry door, famished.
I can’t imagine what I’m hungry for.
Receipts/168 Hours
Monday: Scrambled egg and cheese on a plain bagel; 1 Pop Tart; 3 slices chicken w/chips and salsa; non-dairy ice cream; 3 gf mint cookies.
Tuesday: 1 bowl gf cereal. 2 slices pizza; non-dairy ice cream; 3 gf mint cookies.
Wednesday: Scrambled egg and cheese on a plain bagel; 1 Cliff Bar; 3 slices chicken w/chips and salsa; non-dairy ice cream; 3 gf mint cookies
Thursday: 3 bowls gf cereal; scrambled egg and cheese on a plain bagel; non-dairy ice cream; 3 gf mint cookies.
Friday: Scrambled egg and cheese on a plain bagel; 1 bowl gf cereal; ½ tuna sandwich w/ lettuce and tomato; non-dairy ice cream; 3 gf mint cookies.
Saturday: 1 bowl gf cereal; 1 Cliff Bar; 3 slices chicken w/chips and salsa; non-dairy ice cream; 3 gf mint cookies.
Sunday: 1 bowl gf cereal; 1 Cliff bar; 3 slices chicken w/chips and salsa; non-dairy ice cream; 3 gf mint cookies.
My Waiter Opens an Escape Hatch in the Center of My Table
It’s mealtime,
you don’t need me. I’ve
killed
the touch of smell.
Erased
the convenience
of sugar.
If you’ll excuse me, I’ll
unstopper my
body,
half-starved,
open
in the middle,
trailing jelly. I keep
my pants up
with
glue, avoiding
appetite,
my
scrambled animatronics
ice cream sick, roiling
trouble, tossing
cookies,
ping-ponging
pleasure I can’t remember.
I distract myself
with the sea,
metallic taste
of keys, exit
again the process
of
receiving. At first,
it was all melt, now
I’m
eating myself alive.
